


Primrose Hill

by crispypeach



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 19:31:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crispypeach/pseuds/crispypeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When things get bad, John visits Primrose Hill to relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Primrose Hill

The clouds floating along were laced with the most delicate shades of carnation pink. The moon shone bright against the backdrop of the sky: a periwinkle blue that faded down towards the horizon into a soft apricot. The sun had disappeared, but it still created a warm and bright hue that burst through the slender skyscrapers of further London. The view from Primrose Hill this evening was exquisite. 

John sat on a rickety bench at the very peak of the hill. It was surprisingly quiet for this sort of time on a Saturday evening, especially after such a beautiful day. The heat of the day still lingered in the breeze, and John welcomed its warmth. He relaxed into the bench more, letting his head fall back so the wind could grace his neck. He sighed, a deep and prolonged sigh that escaped his body in a shudder. He could feel all sense of unease and tension be released from his body, after being locked up inside for many an hour. 

He wasn't sure how many hours it had been, how many hours Sherlock and himself had argued for, how long he had put up with the drivel that had spewed out of Sherlock's mouth. He just knew that he was away from it (for the time being), and he had a moment to gather up his thoughts.

It was 9:15pm. A couple that had been relaxing on a picnic mat at the bottom of the hill had packed up, and were now walking down the pathway with linked hands. A soft kiss once they were at the bottom of the hill made John's stomach lurch. He looked away. 

A large group was laughing, the adults clutching glasses of champagne, the children tucking in to fresh Victoria sponge. They were probably permitted a late night, as the sun was technically still shining and the parents were giddy. Two policemen were strolling through the park, waving politely at the children eager for their attention. John chuckled to himself; it was peaceful here. 

John rubbed his hands up and down his lap, breathing deeply. He toed his shoes off, and then his socks, with a bit more difficulty. He reached down and stuffed his socks into his shoes neatly, and placed them under the bench. He curled his toes among the cool blades of grass, feeling their almost-damp texture against his skin. It reminded John that after all, he was only human.

A half hour later, the family sitting on the hill had decided to pack up and leave. John could hear discussions of continuing the party at someone's house, as it had got a little bit more nippy in the air. John decided to stop listening in, and simply wallow in his own troubles. He was going to have to return home at some point. 

John closed his eyes to the elegant trees, the yellowing crescent moon that beamed more brightly, the long stretch of grass that ended in the black cityscape silhouettes. It was now 10pm, the park was completely deserted. 

_“Marry me.”_

_Sherlock looked at John, a curious expression now growing on his features. He scoffed, a crinkling of the eyebrows and a roll of the eyes, and then Sherlock was back to reading the book perched on his fingertips as if John hadn't said a single word._

_“Sherlock,” John placed an apprehensive hand on Sherlock's shoulder, “I'm being serious.”_

John squirmed, curling his toes tight around the grass. He was embarrassed. 

_“John, you know my current situation.” Sherlock mumbled absentmindedly._

_“What current situation?”_

_“Married already.”_

John sighed, feeling the anger well up inside of him again. He breathed deeply, and continued to think through his situation. Sherlock was insufferable. 

The argument had slowly swelled after hours, into full blown shouting and badly hidden tears.

_“Why, Sherlock, why must you put me through this torment?” John grasped at the back of the chair to stop himself getting on his knees and begging._

_“I can't get married, I can't put myself through this ridiculous commitment! It means nothing! It's preposterous!” Sherlock's baritone cut through the air, sharp and severe. He half-expected a worried Mrs Hudson to pounce through the door._

_John breathed deeply, air catching in his dry and swollen throat. A tear escaped from his eye, and he bit roughly into his lip to stop the frown forcing itself onto his face._

_“Thanks Sherlock, I now know how you feel about me. It's great to know the man you fell in love with just had sex with you over the past couple of months for no reason, with no meaning, no feeling for poor old John, who has gotten way over his head about the whole situation. I never knew my love for you was fucking unrequited.” The curse was spat out, John backing away towards the door, slamming it behind him. The wretched sobs were releasing themselves before John got down the stairs._

John's throat was still swollen. He was still embarrassed. He knew he had overreacted; Sherlock was allowed to say no. 

He felt unloved. 

John shook his head and opened his eyes. It was 10:15pm. The street lamps had turned on, casting a copper glow across the park. It was slightly eerie now, and being alone in the park gave John a shiver of fear he didn't like. 

He put his socks and shoes on. Standing and stretching his whole body to its full capacity, John huffed and released his body from its tight position. He glanced out into the distance once more, catching the brief view from Primrose Hill before turning. 

The first thing that caught his eye was a tall figure leaning against the lamppost across the path. Dark curls and a sad, pale face were illuminated by the neon light. Despite the dying heat, the man was still wearing a scarf, well-fitting slacks, and a long black coat. Sherlock. John froze, locking eyes with him.

Sherlock strode across the path in three quick steps, and then sat down on the bench, never losing eye contact with John. 

“You love me?” The question was so sudden, so surprising, so out of context. So Sherlock. 

John sat down beside him, a good bit apart. He stared back ahead into the distance, his mind blank. 

“Of course I do. Always have.” he uttered, his voice strong and full of truth. He never turned to look, still glancing at the moon.

They sat in silence for a moment. John half expected Sherlock to say something back, but he was quiet. At a loss for words? John thought.

“I love you too, you know.” It was a quiet reply, soft. John could sense he meant it. He turned to face Sherlock, his heart pounding furiously in his chest at the declaration. Sherlock looked at him in earnest. His eyes were wide and infused with worry.

“And I apologise to you with all of my being, John. I never meant in any way to harm you. You know I'd do anything to keep you from being hurt.” 

“Then why did you say those horrible things?” John muttered, trying to keep his tone calm.

Sherlock sighed. “I don't know. I guess I didn't know how to express myself properly. But I've thought about it logically. Of course I will marry you one day. I swear on my life, I shall. But not right now. I have some issues within myself I must solve.”

“Issues?” John pushed.

“Yes... private matters,” Sherlock waved the subject away, “Can you be content with just being my partner, my 'better half', my blogger, for a little while longer?”

A small smile grew on John's lips. Sherlock took John's hand and kissed his wrist. “Do you forgive me?” he murmured into the skin there. 

“Yes.” It was barely a whisper escaping from John's mouth, but Sherlock heard it all the same. 

Sherlock dropped his lover's wrist and leaned over, cupping his face with both of his hands. He used one thumb to stroke John's cheek gently. After a brief glance into John's eyes, he pressed his lips to the other's, his eyelids fluttering closed while he kissed him with the softest pushes. They broke apart, but kept their foreheads together, John's hands now weaved through Sherlock's curls. 

“I'm sorry, truly.” Sherlock persisted, but John whispered a tender acceptance, and the pair sat in silence, listening to their irregular breathing.

John leaned back slightly, his eyebrow cocked and a smirk etched on his mouth. “How did you know I was here?”

Sherlock grinned. “Followed you.”

John rolled his eyes. “Naturally.” 

“Naturally.” 

“Come, let's go home.” John stood and held a hand out to Sherlock, who grasped it and stood. They wandered together back down Primrose Hill, John's mind finally content.


End file.
